RUFUS, RALPH FLAMBARD, ANSELM AND HIS DEATH

ORDERICUS VITALIS.

Orderic was born in Shropshire in 1075, and became a monk of St. Evroul in Normandy. In 1100, Rufus was killed while hunting in the New Forest; the crown was secured by his younger brother Henry, in the absence on crusade of the elder brother Robert Duke of Normandy . His work was carried down to 1141, being professedly an ecclesiastical history of England and Normandy; valuable when the author is dealing with matters during his own lifetime.

At this time a certain clerk named Ralph gained the confidence of William Rufus, and acquired pre-eminence over all the king's officers by his subtlety in prosecutions and his skill in flattery. This man was of an acute intellect arid handsome person, a fluent speaker, fond of the pleasures of the table, and addicted to wine and lust he was, at the same time, cruel and ambitious, prodigal to his own adherents, but most rapacious in his exactions from strangers. Sprung from poor and low parents, and rising to a level far beyond that to which his birth entitled him, his arrogance was swelled by the losses he inflicted on others. He was the son of one Thurstan, an obscure priest of the diocese of Bayeux, and, having been brought up from his earliest years among the vile parasites of the court, was better skilled in crafty intrigues and verbal subtleties than in sound learning. Inflated with ambition to raise himself above the eminent men who adorned the court of the great king William, he undertook many things without orders, and of which the prince was ignorant, making impertinent and vexatious accusations in the king's court, and arrogantly over-awing his superiors as if he was supported by the royal authority. In consequence Robert, the king's steward, gave him the surname of Flambard, which indeed, prophetically suited his genius and conduct; for like a devouring flame, he tormented the people and turned the daily chants of the church into lamentations, by the new practices ho introduced into the country. He disquieted the king by his perfidious suggestions, recommending him to revise the record which had been taken of all property throughout England; and, making a new division of the lands, to deprive his subjects, both native and alien, of all that exceeded a certain amount. Having obtained the king's consent, he had all the plough-lands, which are called in English hides, accurately measured and registered, and setting aside the larger ad-measurement which the liberal-minded English had made use of by order of king Edward, and lessening the estates of the farmers, augmented the royal revenues. By this diminution of the former extent of their estates, and the heavy burdens of the new and increased taxation, he shamefully oppressed the king's faithful and humble subjects; impoverishing them by the loss of their property, and reducing them from affluence to great indigence.

By Ralph's advice, the young king, on the death of the prelates, took their churches with the domains attached to them from ancient times into his own hands, and set his courtiers over the convents of monks, and the deans and canons of the episcopal sees, allowing these a small pittance out of the revenues for their maintenance, and applying the rest to his own purposes. The king's covetousness thus impoverished the churches of God, and the iniquitous practice which commenced at that time has continued to the present day to the loss of many souls. For the avaricious king, with this object, deferred appointing pastors to the churches; so that the people having no guides and the flocks no shepherds, they became a prey to the attacks of the wolves and perished from wounds inflicted by the winged arrows of their manifold sins. This inordinate covetousness gathered into the royal treasury the wealth which the ancient English kings had freely and piously devoted to God; such as were Ethelbert, Edwin, Offa, Ethelwulf, Alfred, Edgar, and other princes as well as their great nobles. They indeed, having been converted to the faith, devoutly worshipped God, and out of their abundance made large endowments on the monks and clergy, that those special servants of the Divine law might enjoy ample means of subsistence, and be able day and night, without hindrance, to perform cheerfully the offices of divine worship, and keep perpetually the appointed vigils in places consecrated to the service of God. Thither pilgrims and wayfarers resorted in security, and there found a short repose after their fatigues, and, according to the fundamental institutions of such places, a plentiful repast, after their privations. Returning thanks to God for such unexpected refreshment, they offered devout prayers to the Creator of all things for the benefactors, long since departed, who had secured them such enjoyment of such privileges.

Before the Norman conquest, it was the practice in England, on the death of the superiors of monasteries, for the bishop in whose diocese they were to take an accurate account of the possessions of the convents, and become their guardian until the new abbots were canonically ordained. In like manner, on the death of a bishop, the archbishop took charge of the property of the see, and, with the advice of the officers of the church, appropriated it either to the relief of the poor, the repair of the churches, or other pious uses. William Rufus, in the beginning of his rcigin, was induced by Flambard to abolish this custom, so that he suffered the metropolitan see of Canterbury to remain vacant three years, and seized its revenues for his own use. It is evidently unjust and contrary to all reason that what has been devoted to God by the liberality of pious kings, or laudably acquired by the stewards of the property of the church, should fall into lay hands, and be iniquitously devoted to secular uses. Nor can we doubt that, as, on the one hand, those who have consecrated to God part of their wealth have received from Him the just reward of their good deeds; so, on the other, sacrilegious intruders into sacred things will be brought to punishment by the avenging hand of God, and stripped of the possessions they have usurped to their eternal disgrace. Such is the Almighty's sure and immutable law. Recompense is graciously promised to righteous doers, while transgressors are threatened with fearful vengeance for their crimes. Every page of the sacred writings sets forth this mercy and severity, so that they are as light to every well informed mind. It is, therefore, surprising that the human heart is so prone to evil, and covets present and fleeting advantages more than future and everlasting rewards, when it is known that all things are open to the view of the Almighty, and that nothing can escape the penetration of the divine scrutiny.

The metropolis of Canterbury having languished in fear and grief and a state of widowhood, deprived of its bishop, for three years, the righteous Judge, who beholds from heaven the children of men and perceives all the world running after the vanity of vanities, visited with a severe disease the king of England who was polluted by the guilt of so many crimes. Thus punished by sickness, he had recourse to the priests of the Lord, and laying open to those physicians of the soul the wounds of his conscience by humble confession, promised amendment of life and commanded the rulers of the church to choose an archbishop according to the will of God. It happened that at that time Anselm, abbot of Bec, had crossed over to England on the affairs of his monastery. On hearing that the king had given orders for the election of a metropolitan, Holy Church was filled with joy, and an assembly of her leading rulers was held to treat of the business on which they were summoned. At length, taking into consideration the sanctity and wisdom of the venerable Anselm, he was unanimously elected in the name of the Lord, and, very unwillingly on his part, elevated to the metropolitan see of Canterbury. Having been solemnly enthroned, this able pastor was often in great tribulation when he carefully weighed the serious and difficult burdens imposed upon him. So far from being lifted up by his high promotion, he was filled with alarm lest many of those placed under his government, who were erring from the right way, should come to perdition. he found a variety of things in his diocese which required correction. It was often his duty to censure a sinful monarch and a stubborn nobility. This exposed him to their repeated attacks, and he was twice driven into exile for his zeal in the cause of justice. Both by word and good example, he strove to improve the perverse habits of his flock: but some of them were so hardened in iniquity that he could not succeed as he wished. For, as Solomon says, the perverse are difficult to correct, and the number of the foolish is infinite

In those days the light of true holiness was dim among all orders of the state, and the princes of the world with their subjects abandoned themselves to deeds of darkness. William Rufus, king of England, was a young man of loose and debauched morals, and his people but too readily followed his example. He was imperious, daring, warlike, and gloried in the pomp of his numerous troops. His great delight consisted in conferring the honours of knighthood on account of the worldly splendour with which it surrounded him. He took no care to defend the country folk against his men-at-arms, so that their property was at the entire mercy of his young knights and squires. The king's memory was very tenacious, and his zeal either for good or evil was ardent. Robbers and thieves felt the terrible weight of his power, and his efforts to keep the peace throughout his dominion were unceasing. He so managed his subjects, either by making them partake of his bounty, or curbing them by the terror of his arms, that no one dared whisper a word in opposition to his will.

THE DEATH OF RUFUS AND ACCESSION HENRY I.

A certain monk of good repute, and still better life, who was of the abbey of St. Peters at Gloucester, related that he had a dream in the visions of the night to this effect "I saw," he said, "the Lord Jesus seated on a lofty throne and the glorious host of heaven, with the company of saints, standing round. But while in my ecstasy I was lost in wonder, and my attention was deeply fixed on a vision so wondrous, I beheld a virgin resplendent in light cast herself at the feet of the Lord Jesus, and humbly address to him this petition '0 Lord Jesus Christ, the Saviour of mankind, for which thou didst shed thy precious blood when hanging on the cross, look with an eye of compassion on thy people which now groans under the yoke of William. Thou avenger of wickedness, and most just judge of all men, take vengeance, I beseech thee on my behalf of this William, and deliver me out of his hands for, as far as lies in his power, he hath polluted and grievously afflicted me.' And the Lord answered: 'Be patient and wait awhile, and soon thou shalt be avenged of him fully.' I trembled on hearing this, and doubt not that the divine anger presently threatens the king for I understood that the cries of the holy virgin, our mother the Church, had reached the ears of the Almighty, by reason of the robberies, the foul adulteries, and the heinous crimes of all sorts which the king and his courtiers cease not from daily committing against the divine law.'

Of which having heard, the venerable abbot Serlo wrote letters which he despatched with friendly intent from Gloucester, informing the king very distinctly of all that the monk had seen in his vision.

The morning of the day following, king William, having dined with his minions, prepared, after the meal was ended, to go forth and hunt in the New Forest. Being in great spirits, he was jesting with his attendants while his boots were being laced, when there came in an armourer and gave him six arrows. The king straightway took them, very well pleased, praising the work; and unconscious of what was to happen kept four of them himself and held out the other two to Walter Tirel. " It is but right," he said, " that the sharpest arrows should be given to him who knows best how to inflict mortal wounds with them " This Tirel was a French knight of good extraction, the wealthy lord of the castles of Poix and Pontoise, holding a high place among the nobles, and a gallant soldier he was therefore admitted to familiar intimacy with the king, and became his constant companion. Meanwhile, while they were idly talking on various subjects and the king's household attendants were assembled about him, a monk of Gloucester presented himself and delivered to the king the letter from his abbot. Having read which he burst out laughing, and said merrily to the knight just mentioned, "Walter, do what I told you." The knight replied, "I will my lord." Slighting then the warnings of the elders, and forgetting that the heart is lifted up before a fall, he said respecting the letter he had received, "I wonder what has brought my lord Serlo to write to me in this strain, for I really believe he is a worthy old man and respectable. In the simplicity of his heart, he transmits to me, who have enough besides to attend to, the dreams of his snoring monks, and even takes the trouble to commit them to writing, and send them thus far. Does he think that I follow the example of the English, who will defer their journey or their business on account of the dreams of a parcel of wheezing old women?"

Thus speaking, he hastily arose, and mounting his horse, rode at full speed to the forest. His brother, Count Henry, with William de Breteuil and other distinguished persons, followed him, and, having penetrated into the woods, the hunters dispersed themselves in various directions according to custom. The king and Walter de Poix posted themselves with a few others in one part of the forest, and stood with their weapons in their hands eagerly watching for the coming of the game, when a stag suddenly running between them, the king quitted his station, and Walter shot an arrow. It grazed the beast's grizzly back, but glancing from it. mortally wounded the king who stood within its range. He straightway fell to the ground, and alas! expired. The death of one man caused the greatest confusion among numbers, and the wood echoed with fearful shouts occasioned by the death of their prince.

Henry lost no time in riding as fast as his horse could carry him to Winchester, where the royal treasure was kept, and imperiously demanded the keys from the keepers as the lawful heir. William do Breteuil arrived at the same instant with breathless haste, for he anticipated Henry's deep policy and resolved to oppose it. "We ought," he said, "to have a loyal regard for the fealty we have sworn to your brother Robert. He is undoubtedly the eldest son of King William, and both I and you, my lord Henry, have paid him homage. Therefore we ought to keep our engagements to him in all respects, whether he be absent or present. He has long laboured in God's service [as a crusader ], and the Lord now restores him, without a contest, the duchy which he relinquished for the love of heaven, as well as his father's crown." There was now a sharp contention between them, and crowds flocked round them from all quarters, but the influence of an heir present in person to claim his rights began to prevail. Henry hastily seized his sword, and drew it out of the scabbard, declaring that no foreigner should on frivolous pretences lay hands on his father's sceptre.

At length, through the intervention of friends and prudent counsellors, the quarrel abated on the one side and the other, and by a wise resolution, to prevent a serious rupture, the castle with the royal treasures was given up to Henry, the king's son. This had been long before predicted by the Britons, and the English desired to have for their lord a prince they regarded as illustrious because he was nobly born on the throne

( I.e. when his father was actually king. When Robert was born, William I. was only Duke of Normandy. )